


Anything You Ask (I'm Your Man)

by Savoytruffle



Series: I'm Your Man [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savoytruffle/pseuds/Savoytruffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jim and Leonard first meet, they have two things in common: alcohol and desperation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything You Ask (I'm Your Man)

**Author's Note:**

> Title and theme based on [Leonard Cohen's fantastic "I'm Your Man."](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r24_T-HOcyg) Unbeta'd, so feel free to point out typos. Thanks to my partner [](http://cordelianne.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cordelianne.livejournal.com/)**cordelianne** for everything.

When Jim and Leonard first meet, they have two things in common: alcohol and desperation.

There are some slight differences, in terms of stage. Leonard is drunk and Jim is hungover. Jim is taking his last chance at starting his life and Leonard is latching on to his first chance to start over.

But it all boils down to the same sort of free fall.

When you can’t feel the ground beneath your feet, you’ll latch on to whatever’s within reach.

 

 

The first time they fuck, it’s the same – alcohol and desperation.

Starfleet Academy is rules upon rules, checkpoints and roommates, and if you’ve come in with a reputation, there’s no way to escape the feeling that you’re constantly being watched.

And judged.

And maybe for Jim and Leonard, it chafes more than most. Or maybe they just have the same breaking point.

It starts at a bar with a few drinks to get out the tension. Jim is scanning the room for conquests; Leonard is scanning the top shelf and trying to figure out if he can afford any halfway decent bourbon and still make his child support payment next week. Both keep drinking as they look and, before they know it, they’re both at least three drinks past interaction with anyone but each other.

They stumble back to campus together, back to Leonard’s empty room. (Leonard’s roommate has a girlfriend in the city and stays with her most weekends.) They pass out mostly clothed and half on top of each other in Leonard’s single bed.

They come to around four or five in the morning.

They try a couple of sloppy kisses but the insides of their mouths are too disgusting and their coordination isn’t that hot either.

They settle for a sloppy fuck instead.

 

 

Who knows why it keeps happening.

Convenience. Loneliness. Or that strange three-a.m. place where the two things meet.

Oddly, it brings them closer together.

If it were anyone else, Leonard thinks he probably wouldn’t be able to face that person in the sober light of day, but Jim Kirk doesn’t do shame.

It’s alright – Leonard’s done enough shame in his life for both of them.

 

 

Leonard’s always been a good doctor. He was a good doctor sober and he’s a good doctor hungover.

For a long time, no one seems to notice the difference.

 

 

Leonard is studying alone with a PADD and half a bottle of bourbon. He’s also waiting for Jim, but he must nod off at some point because he wakes to Jim shaking his shoulder.

He opens his eyes, smiles up at Jim standing over him, reaches for Jim’s fly.

Jim stills his hand.

“I want you to stop drinking when I’m not around,” Jim says.

Leonard laughs and goes for Jim’s fly again, but Jim still isn’t letting him.

“I’m serious,” Jim says. “We’ll get trashed together when you need it. I’ll be there for your wedding anniversary, for the anniversary of your divorce, after you lose a patient, whenever. I promise. Just stop drinking alone.”

Leonard looks up at Jim’s face, all clear eyes and clean shave. He’s not sure when Jim started straightening up and flying right, but he thinks maybe he should have noticed.

He doesn’t need to look in a mirror, he can see it all in Jim’s eyes. But there’s no pity or judgment, just a quiet confidence that’s maybe enough to share.

“Okay,” Leonard says.

 

 

 

It’s hard at first. Alcohol is an old friend that’s never left him alone in his time of need. But Jim is true to his word, and he’s always there with a bottle or a bar tab when Leonard needs it most.

 

 

Leonard is better this way; he knows it. But he doesn’t really _feel_ it until the first time he has Jim on his operating table at Starfleet Medical (where Leonard's cleaned up image and academic excellence have allowed him to pick up some very lucrative shifts).

He doesn’t recognize Jim – bruised and bloody as he is – until the emergency medical techs are giving him the rundown.

“Cadet Kirk, James T. Standing too close to an unexpected explosion in a training exercise. Major concerns are the second degree burns to his chest and any internal bleeding. External bleeding is all superficial.

Leonard doesn’t hear much beyond Jim’s name; fortunately, Doctor McCoy hears everything and starts the necessary scans and treatments automatically. Doctor McCoy also has time to realize that he should be recusing himself from this case, that he and Jim are way too close for McCoy to be his doctor...

But Leonard is having none of it.

He doesn’t trust anyone else with Jim’s life, so keeps his mouth firmly shut and lets his medical mind focus on its patient.

Jim’s been his anchor; now it’s time to be Jim’s.

He’s never been more grateful for steady hands.

 

It’s not the last time Leonard patches Jim up. What he’s avoided in bar-fight injuries, he’s more than made up for by throwing his whole self into every training exercise and sacrificing his own body to prevent any injury of others.

Some people think it’s Jim’s ego that has him trying to solve every problem on his own.

Sometimes Leonard is one of those people.

But other times, Leonard’s pretty sure it’s Jim’s heart.

 

 

Jim spends a lot of time talking about the various ships and crews in the fleet, about where he expects the openings to be when he graduates, and about which ones he thinks he could get.

Leonard spends a lot of time rolling his eyes, telling Jim there’s no sense in trying to predict the future, and reminding Jim that wherever he gets placed he’s going to make it work.

And, late at night, Leonard spends a lot of time researching CMOs and medical staff and deciding whose hands he could possibly imagining leaving Jim in.

 

 

By second year, they’re roommates. They’ve learned they put up better with each other than they do with anyone else, and it makes the sex very convenient.

They don’t talk about exclusivity, but there’s a certain reality that Leonard just doesn’t have the time or the energy for anyone else. And he doesn’t plan to make it.

Meanwhile, Jim seems to have at least forty-eight hours in his standard day and the energy of six to eight normal men. He's got to burn it somewhere.

Leonard can't really tell if it bothers him. He has some vague sense that he should be hurt or outraged or deliver some kind of ultimatum, but he likes what he has of Jim's attention.

Jim is the fire Leonard huddles next to on the cold nights, and what does he care who else is standing around it, as long as it chases the chill from his bones?

 

 

One night that’s more like early morning, Jim crawls into Leonard's bed and finds him not sleeping.

"Missed you," Leonard whispers, because he's too tired not to. His clinic shift was hell and it kind of sucked to come home to an empty room.

Jim strokes a hand along Leonard’s stubbly cheek. "You know that you're the only one that matters, right Bones?"

"Sure, Jim," Leonard says, about to roll over and try to finally get some rest, but Jim doesn't let it drop.

"I mean it. I'm not sure I could do monogamy – I just don't think I'm built for it – but if you can't be okay with this..." Jim trails off before he can make an ill-advised promise. "Please be okay with it, Bones."

He pulls Jim closer against his chest and shuts his eyes.

“Okay,” Leonard says.

 

 

 

Leonard was exaggerating when he said Jocelyn took the planet in the divorce.

Sure, they needed some distance. Sure, Leonard needed time to grieve and something new to work towards. But he never really intended to go into space, and he always figured he'd return to Georgia eventually.

He has a daughter there, after all, and Atlanta is home to about thirty percent of Starfleet Medical's Terran research facilities.

And isn't time supposed to heal all those sorts of wounds that Leonard’s hands never could?

Besides which, Leonard hates space. He hates it with a depth of loathing that only a control freak can have for the truly unpredictable and unknown.

In other words: an awful lot.

His primary coping mechanism for flight of any kind – the one he used on the recruitment shuttle – isn't exactly conduct becoming an officer of Starfleet, and no one likes to see a doctor carrying around a hip flask. So Leonard puts off even his most basic flight training requirements until the very last moment, using a combination of well-crafted justifications and personal favors earned through effective and discreet medical interventions. In fact, he’s pushed it all to his final year.

Which is how, on the day that the cadets are hustled out into space to aid the planet Vulcan, Leonard's had exactly no preparation.

His heart’s beating double time as they enter the shuttle hangar and it’s a hell of a lot more than his usual medical-emergency adrenaline. But he’ll be fine and he only sneaks Jim aboard the _Enterprise_ because the kid looks like someone just drowned his favorite kitten.

It has nothing to do with wanting or needing a security blanket.

He's a grown man, after all.

 

 

 

After all is said and done, Leonard feels like he's aged twenty years.

 

 

 

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing Leonard says when it’s all over – Pike’s rescue, Earth’s salvation, and the media’s crowning of The Great Jim Kirk.

From now on, Leonard’s got to share Jim with the masses – that is if he’s still got any claim on Jim at all.

They’re back in their dorm room, though it doesn't have to stay _theirs_. (Anyone on campus can have a single now...provided you don’t mind bunking with ghosts.)

“Forget it,” Jim says, voice tight.

“I can’t, Jim. Seeing you thrown off the ship–” Leonard’s throat closes before he can even finish the sentence. No grown man should be so fucking terrified of being alone.

Jim shrugs and walks off to fiddle with his PADD, muttering, “Whatever. It’s not like you could’ve changed Spock’s mind, anyway...”

If Jim’s not going to say it, Leonard will. “I still could’ve stood up for you.”

Jim turns to study Leonard, closely, his face impossible to read. “Did you even _want_ to?”

The question stings. “Of course I did. Jim, I trust you with _my life_.”

“Right,” Jim says, “just not with everyone else’s.”

“Christ,” Leonard swears, “he’d just destroyed an entire planet.”

“And he was about to destroy another one!”

“I know! I just...”

“Didn’t want to bet on the wrong guy?”

“It wasn’t a game!”

“I know it wasn’t a fucking game!” Jim is right in Leonard’s face now. “I clued into that even before I almost got eaten alive on that damned ice planet.”

Leonard feels raw, exposed. “I thought you’d be safe.” _I thought you’d live even if the rest of us didn’t._

“I didn’t want to be safe!” Jim shouts, pounding his fists against Leonard’s chest. “I wanted to do something!”

“You always want to do something!” Leonard grabs Jim’s fists and holds them. “But sometimes you have to stop and think.”

Jim’s eyes narrow, lips curling into a sneer, and he yanks his hands back, putting space between them. “Right, of course, that’s me, hot-headed Jim Kirk who fights and fucks and fucks up and only got into Starfleet because his daddy died a hero.”

Leonard feels his heart clench and takes a step toward Jim. “Oh, come on, you know I don’t–”

Jim isn't listening. “Well, guess what, Bones? I think _all the damn time_. I never _stop_ thinking! Because I know that I’ve got to be twice as good as everyone else to ever be anything other than George Kirk’s son.”

Leonard steps closer and lays a hand on Jim’s shoulder. Jim tries to shrug it off, but Leonard refuses to be budged.

“Jim,” he says firmly, “you did it. You saved the entire planet. You saved Captain Pike. You saved my _daughter_. You’ve more than proven yourself.”

Jim looks down, shaking his head. “Yeah, whatever, I wasn’t even supposed to be there. They’ll probably kick me out of the academy for cheating and then stowing away.”

Leonard snorts. “Then they’d be idiots. Like I was.”

Jim looks up, smiling slightly. “Thought _I_ was the idiot.”

“Well,” Leonard says, smiling back, “idiot and genius – it’s a fine line.”

 

 

They end up cuddling on the bed. Usually sex is required to get to the cuddling, but these are extraordinary circumstances.

 

 

They’re woken up by the sound of Jim’s comm. He rolls out of bed to take it, wandering toward the other side of the room and sounding more alert with every word.

“Hello, sir....Yes, sir....Yes, sir....I understand, sir....I....uh...I mean, thank you, sir.”

Jim drifts back toward the bed, looking shell-shocked.

“What is it, Jim?” _Christ_ , Leonard doesn’t think he can take any more bad news.

“They’re giving me the _Enterprise_ ,” Jim whispers.

Leonard’s brow furrows. “What?”

“They’re giving me the _Enterprise_. They decided to uphold my field promotion. I’m going to be Captain.”

Leonard blinks, trying to take it all in. “Holy shit, Jim, that’s amazing! I...”

“You can keep yours, too.”

Leonard doesn’t get it. “What?”

“Your field promotion. To Chief Medical Officer. You can keep it.” Jim hesitates and looks down. “If you want.”

The answer should be, 'No, thanks,' but somehow it isn't anymore. Leonard thinks about thinking it over, but it’s not thinking that’s going to get him back out there in the black.

It’s that feeling, somewhere deep in his gut.

“Okay,” Leonard says.

 

 

 

Leonard lasts about ten minutes into the _Enterprise_ ’s new mission. It takes about seven minutes to pull out of space dock. It takes about one minute for Sulu to enter their coordinates, for Jim to tell him to, “Step on the gas!” – an antiquated expression Leonard later learns has to do with Jim’s delinquent past – and for Sulu to put them into warp.

Leonard spends about thirty seconds looking out the viewscreen...then bolts for the turbolift.

It takes another five seconds for Leonard to recognize that while CMO’s quarters are always less than a minute from sickbay, Captain’s quarters are always less than a minute from the bridge.

A minute later he’s in the bathroom in Jim’s quarters puking his guts out.

Afterwards, he staggers over to Jim’s bed and lays himself across it, facing away from the windows, willing his brain to forget that he’s floating through space.

Ten minutes after that, he hears the door swish open.

“Shouldn’t you be back on the bridge basking in the glory?” Leonard asks, without opening his eyes.

“Eh,” Jim says, “there’ll be plenty of glory to be had later. Figured you could probably use these.”

Leonard feels something drop onto the bed beside him. He cracks his eyes open and sees his bags lying there, including his med kit.

 _Hallelujah_.

He digs through until his fingers close around a hypo and a sedative, which he administers to himself without delay. He smiles up at Jim as he feels himself starting to get groggy.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, before promptly passing out.

He never does move into his own quarters.

 

 

It gets better. On the ship, at least.

It helps that sickbay doesn’t have any windows, but he finds he can even head to the bridge once in awhile and stand behind Jim’s chair. Sometimes when he looks out into the stars, he almost thinks he can see what Jim sees.

Shuttles, though? Leonard still hates shuttles.

Especially now, when they’ve crashed as much as landed on a planet with an extremely unstable atmosphere.

“She’s dead, Jim.”

 _She_ being the pilot, who landed just the wrong way in the crash and broke her neck instantly.

Leonard and Jim are a bit battered and bruised but basically fine. Except for the fact that Jim hasn’t established more than scattered communication with the _Enterprise_ and that what few of Spock’s words _have_ made it through tell them they can't be beamed up safely.

“Fuck,” Jim says. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He takes a deep breath, closes his comm unit, and moves back toward the shuttle. “Okay, Bones, get Kuppalli in here. I’m gonna figure out how to get this thing flying again.”

 _Oh goody_ , Leonard thinks, though he knows rationally it’s their only way out.

He hefts Ensign Kuppalli’s body over his shoulder and lays her down on one of the rear seats, strapping her into the shoulder harness. It should help to know that there was nothing he could have done for her, even in his own sickbay, but it doesn’t. He still feels responsible.

Jim has removed a panel and has his whole torso stuck inside it. “I think I’ve got it,” he calls, his voice echoing, “I just need to–”

Bones only barely hears the small explosion, but Jim’s pained cry rings in his ears.

“Jim!” He’s by Jim’s side in half a second, helping pull his body out from the panel. “What happened?”

No sooner has he asked the question than he gets his answer. Something electrical blew up – probably no more than ten centimeters from Jim’s face.

Doctor McCoy pushes Leonard’s horror aside and takes over.

“Okay, Jim, it’s going to be just fine. I know you can’t see right now, but we’re just going to get you up and into this seat and I’m gonna grab my medkit and get you stable so we can get back to the _Enterprise_ , okay?”

He’s moving Jim as he speaks and the tricorder is in his hand seconds later. He doesn’t breathe as he scans Jim’s face.

“Fuck, it hurts, Bones,” Jim moans through lips that really shouldn't be moved. “It must be bad. You can tell me.”

Leonard wonders if he really could tell Jim, but this time he doesn’t have to. “Nothing that can’t be fixed,” he declares, finally breathing again. “Let me just give you something for the pain and get you cleaned up a little.”

As he measures the hypo dose, Leonard wishes he could afford to just knock Jim out, but they’re not out of the woods yet. Still, when he delivers a more moderate dose, Jim groans in gratitude.

“Now you just take some deep breaths, Jim, and don’t you try to open your eyes just yet.” Leonard holds Jim’s chin with a gentle but firm hand as he runs the field sterilizer over his face. He follows quickly with an aerosol protective film that will keep Jim from opening his eyes and make sure the nerves endure no further damage during transport.

Transport.

Their pilot is dead and Jim can’t see (and really shouldn’t be moving), which leaves Leonard to get them back before any of the damage to Jim’s eyes or face becomes permanent.

With a shuttle that still isn’t actually working.

 _Fuck_.

“Hey, Bones,” Jim says, “can I open my eyes yet?”

“No, Jim, that’s not a good idea right now.”

Of course bad ideas are always Jim’s favorites. “Bones?” he’s asking now. “Why aren’t my eyes opening?”

“We need them to stay shut so they don’t sustain any more damage before I can treat you back on the ship.”

“Uh, we need them _open_ so that I can fix this shuttle so that we can actually _get_ back to the ship.”

“Right,” Leonard says, trying not to let his voice shake. “How far did you get with that exactly?”

Relatively speaking, following Jim’s instructions in order to finish fixing the shuttle isn’t so bad. (They manage to avoid any further explosions.) It’s the part that comes after that’s got Leonard worried.

“Help me into the co-pilot’s seat,” Jim says, and Leonard’s pretty sure Jim can feel his hands shaking as he guides Jim because Jim starts murmuring things like, “It’s okay,” “You can do it,” and “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Leonard doubts any of these statements are true. He sits in the pilot’s seat and stares at the controls and tries to remind himself that these things practically fly themselves.

Though they tend to do less well in unstable atmospheres.

He did get training on this.

Once.

His breath sounds very loud in the small space.

Harsh and ragged.

Doctor McCoy informs Leonard that he is starting to hyperventilate, but it doesn’t occur to Leonard what to do about it until Jim tells him to:

“Breathe, Bones. In and out.”

The oxygen is a welcome relief.

There’s no oxygen in space.

“No, really, Bones – _breathe_.”

Jim has turned to face Leonard and Leonard turns to look at him. How Jim can exude calm and confidence with his eyes closed, Leonard doesn’t know, but he’s grateful.

“Bones,” Jim asks quietly, “how badly do I need to get back to sickbay right now?”

“Pretty badly,” Leonard admits, hands shaking.

“Okay, so you’ve got a patient in need of care and the only way you can give it to him is to fly this shuttle back to the ship.”

“Jim, I—” It’s hard to believe he could fail Jim now, but he can’t see himself succeeding.

“How many procedures have you been trained in that you’ve never actually had to perform in an emergency?”

The question distracts Leonard. “Tons,” he says.

“So what do you do when you need to use one for the first time?”

“I don’t know.” He’s thinking about the answer and his hands stop shaking. “I just…go through the steps in my head and my hands know what to do.”

“Okay, then,” Jim says. “You’ve been trained to fly a shuttle. So just shut off all the other stuff, I’ll talk you through the steps, and your hands will know what to do.” The pressure in Leonard’s lungs starts to ease. “We’ll be home in no time, okay?”

“Okay,” Leonard says.

 

 

 

Leonard opens the door to Jim’s quarters (to _their_ quarters) and finds Jim sitting in the dark.

“Lights – fifty percent,” Leonard says.

Jim doesn’t look at him. “Maybe you should sleep in your room tonight.”

Something about Jim’s posture reflects a child’s belief that the first time he screws up, he’ll be tossed away. Like he has to reject before he gets rejected.

In the last two years, Leonard hasn’t spent a single night in the quarters to which he’s officially assigned and he doesn’t plan to start now. It’s not the first time they’ve fought on the bridge and it probably won’t be the last, but when you can’t sleep in the same bed afterwards, that’s the beginning of the end.

He knows this from experience.

Leonard shakes his head. “No,” he says.

Jim does look up at that. “I’m serious, Bones, I need some space.”

“Not that much.”

Jim drops his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, if you want to tell me you were right, there’s no need. I get it, okay?”

Leonard can’t hide his shock. “You think I want to gloat? Jim, people _died_ today.”

Jim’s head snaps back up, his eyes haunted. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I know it’s all my fault? If I had just done what you said—”

“Then who knows what would have happened,” Leonard interrupts. “It could have been better; it could have been a lot worse. It was an impossible situation. You can’t go second-guessing your decision.”

“Why not?” Jim mutters. “You did.”

“ _That’s_ what you think I did?” Leonard asks, struggling to keep his temper. “Fuck, Jim, yeah, I’m gonna give my honest opinion when there’s a decision to be made – that’s why you _have_ senior crew members – but I’m not gonna beat you up about it afterwards. I trust you always to do what you believe is best. No one can ask you for more.”

When Jim looks up this time, his eyes are shining. “Well, what if my best isn’t good enough, Bones? I’m the fucking captain! People’s lives are in my hands.”

“Oh right,” Leonard says, “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I mean, I’m just a doctor. No one ever dies if _I_ make the wrong call.”

“It’s not the same,” Jim mutters.

Only it’s exactly the same. Except for the fact that Leonard’s had nearly a decade to get used to being a doctor and Jim’s only had two years to figure out being a captain – and without ever working directly under one.

“Jim…” Leonard begins.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jim snaps.

And, honestly, Leonard can respect that, but there has to be some way to help Jim let it go.

“Take your clothes off,” Leonard says, not even sure where the words come from.

For a moment, Jim doesn’t move, just meets and holds Leonard’s gaze, and Leonard has no idea what the hell he thinks he’s trying to do. Then, in one swift movement, Jim stands and pulls the command gold off over his head.

Now, seven times out of ten, Leonard’s more than happy to let Jim expend his considerable energy reaming Leonard’s ass. Leonard tends to build up stress in every part of his body and there’s nothing like being well fucked to leave him blissed out and boneless.

As for the other three times, Leonard’s content to let Jim top from the bottom. There’s a reason people like to sleep with Jim so much – he knows what he wants, he cares what his partner wants, and he’s got a talent for bringing the two together.

But the look on Jim’s face as he unfastens his pants and pushes them down his thighs tells Leonard that _this_ time has to be different. Jim needs someone to take the responsibility _out_ of his hands for once, if only for a night.

“Boot and boxers, too, Jim,” Leonard says, ignoring the waver in his own voice. “Don’t make me wait.”

Jim is the very picture of obedience as he bends over to pull off his boots, then slides his boxers down, stepping out of them along with his pants, his movements smoother than Leonard’s have ever been anywhere outside of surgery.

Frankly, it’s intimidating, and Leonard doesn’t know how he’s going to pull off this role reversal, except for the fact that he knows Jim needs it.

Leonard _does_ have some experience in administering care whether the patient likes it or not.

He can do this now. He can do it for Jim.

“Good job, Jim. That’s perfect. I think you’ve made enough decisions for the day, don’t you?”

A shadow crosses Jim’s face. “Bones, I don’t—”

“No, Jim. No more giving orders. From here on out, all you need to do is follow them.”

Jim opens his mouth as if to protest, but Leonard cuts him off at the pass, starting to get into his role.

“In fact,” he says, “no more talking at all. You need to stop, you tell me, otherwise keep quiet and do what I say, got it?”

Jim just stares at Leonard for a long moment, probably assessing whether Leonard is truly up to this task, then nods.

Leonard smiles. “Good,” he says. “Why don’t you start on your knees?”

Jim sinks to his knees and walks forward on them. He smirks a bit as he opens Leonard’s pants and pulls out the cock that’s been rock hard since the instant Jim’s knees hit the floor.

For the next several minutes, Leonard forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. Hell, he’s probably forgets his own name. Jim gives phenomenal head, making it hard to think about doing anything but letting him continue. Leonard’s hands are resting in Jim’s hair, moving with Jim’s motions, and it takes a genuine effort of will to tighten that grip until Jim’s head is held in place.

Long seconds go by and then Jim looks up. When their eyes meet – Jim’s bright and beginning to water –Leonard knows for sure he’s on the right track.

“Relax your jaw and breathe through your nose,” Leonard instructs.

Then he proceeds to fuck Jim’s face.

By the time Leonard comes down Jim’s throat, Jim is red-faced and panting, his eyes watering to the point of tears, and his hips twitching with restless arousal. The sight is almost unbearably hot and Leonard’s relieved he’s just taken the edge off.

Jim is going to need a lot more of Leonard’s time and attention.

“Good job, kid,” he says, the term designed to test Jim’s patience and resolve. “Now get up on the bed for me.”

Jim shoots Leonard a glare, but rises from the floor and moves into the bedroom area.

“On your back, now. There’s a good boy.”

Another glare and that’s just what Leonard wants – all of Jim’s attention, all his emotion and frustration, focused squarely on Leonard.

“Don’t you look good,” Leonard says as he approaches the bed, aware that a running monologue will help distract Jim from his silent self-recrimination.

He takes one of Jim’s wrists in each of his hands and arranges them so they lie crossed above Jim’s head.

“Now, you leave those there,” Leonard says, stepping back to admire the picture Jim makes. Then, with Jim’s eyes on him, he slowly strips naked.

There are things Leonard can imagine Jim wanting right now – a blindfold, a gag, restraints, a spanking – but Leonard can’t imagine doing them.

Not yet.

Not today.

He settles for a slow, thorough, and decidedly oral examination of every inch of Jim’s body, starting at his toes and working his way up, only saving the good parts until last. He intersperses his licks and nips and kisses with reminders to Jim to stay still and with praise for what a good boy Jim is being.

He forbids Jim action and control. He makes Jim wait.

He hopes it’s enough.

Leonard is hard again by the time the examination is through. Jim’s dick still hasn’t been touched. Retrieving lube from the nightstand, Leonard opens Jim up just as slowly as he’s done everything else.

That’s when Jim starts to beg.

Leonard doesn’t remind Jim about the no-talking rule – it’s possible he’s forgotten it himself – just pushes Jim’s thighs up until his knees hook over Leonard’s shoulders, and leans in to plant a kiss on Jim’s lips.

Then he fucks Jim for all he’s worth.

Having come already gives Leonard some real stamina, and eventually Leonard’s stamina breaks Jim’s. Jim comes just from the pressure on his prostate and the friction of Leonard’s abs against his dick.

That’s a first.

Leonard feels proud.

Also exhausted.

He orgasms for the second time and collapses on the bed next to Jim. They lie there breathing heavily.

“Thank you,” Jim says eventually.

Leonard gives a half-hearted shrug. “You needed it.”

“Still, I know it’s not exactly your thing.”

“Not like it was torture either,” Leonard says, but the truth is it felt a lot like work. Sex and love, but also effort, trying so hard to get things right.

“I’ll probably need it again sometime,” Jim admits.

Actually, next time, Jim will probably need more. Jim’s the type of guy who needs to push his limits and Leonard’s limits can’t even see Jim’s limits from where they’re standing.

Leonard makes a mental note to do some research.

“Okay,” Leonard says.

 

 

Leonard walks down the hall, quickly. He doesn’t know how much time he has. Jim is having lunch with his mother and there’s no telling when things will turn awkward enough for mumbled excuses and hurried exits.

Pike’s assistant lets Leonard past as soon as he gives his name, which is how Leonard knows it’s exactly as bad as he thought.

“Doctor McCoy,” Pike says by way of greeting.

Leonard nods. “Admiral.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

Leonard shakes his head. “I won’t be here long.”

Pike raises an eyebrow. “Okay…”

Leonard takes a deep breath and says what he came to say. “It was me. I did not have Captain Kirk’s permission to go back down to Epsilon VII, nor to offer medical treatment. In keeping with the Prime Directive, I was to remain on the ship. I took the shuttle without Captain Kirk’s knowledge and against his orders. Everything that followed was a direct result of this unauthorized action.”

“McCoy,” Pike begins, “you and I both know—”

Leonard cuts him off. “I’ve made a confession, Admiral. I believe you now have twenty-four hours to put me in front of a board of inquiry. I’m free tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred.”

“Jim’s inquiry is at noon…”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Leonard lies. “I assume you’ll send the official summons with time and place to my comm?”

“McCoy…” Pike starts again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

Leonard turns around and walks out the door.

 

 

At eight the following morning, Leonard walks down a different hall wearing his dress uniform. Pike sits at the end of it, outside a closed door.

Leonard stops in front of him in perfect parade rest. “Admiral.”

“Leonard,” Pike says softly, “he wouldn’t want you to do this.”

Leonard says nothing.

“Does he even know you’re here right now?”

Leonard says nothing.

“I’ll do my best to help him,” Pike promises, low and urgent. “Sure, not everyone in the admiralty supports Jim, but PR loves him. I don’t think they’ll take away his ship.”

“You don’t _think_ …” Leonard repeats.

Pike starts to say something but stops short of a promise Leonard knows he can’t make.

“I can’t protect you in there,” Pike says at last. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m not Medical. My judgment isn’t going to carry much weight.”

Leonard nods.

“You could lose your commission,” Pike says.

Leonard says nothing.

A few long seconds later, the door opens and another man in uniform appears. “Lieutenant Commander McCoy, we’re ready for you.”

“Okay,” Leonard says.


End file.
